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i\ N V T n ? O Z ' 

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■ J BOI5 BIRD 




Class T^^50_'3 
Book '^7 5^ 4- 
CoDvri^htN" / 1 / "7 



COEW^IGHT DEPOSm 



THE RETURN 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



REMSEN DU BOIS BIRD 



SAN FRANCISCO 

THE PERIODICAL PRESS 

MDCCCCXIX 



COPYRIGHT 1 91 9 BY REMSEN DU BOIS BIRD 




DEC 22 1919 



PRINTED BY BRUCE BROUGH 509 SANSOME STREET SAN FRANCISCO CALIFORNIA 



(^)0!.A5610 90 



/VV« I 



TO MY WIFE 



THESE BITS OF VERSE CAME TO ME 
IN A YEAR OF WANDERING IN A CER- 
TAIN SORT OF WAR SERVICE AND 

IN THE MONTHS WHICH HAVE FOL- 
LOWED SINCE THE RETURN. I AM 
HAVING THEM PUBLISHED WITH THE 
HOPE THAT THEY MAY NOT BE WITH- 
OUT INTEREST FOR OTHERS, AND 
THAT I MAY HAVE THE SATISFACTION 
WHICH ONE ENJOYS, IN SEEING ONe's 
POEMS ■ GATHERED TOGETHER AND 
NICELY SET FORTH IN TYPE. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Prayer TO Her . . , ' ii 

The Hills 13 

To THE President 14 

To THE Kaiser 15 

To Chaplain Peshall 16 

The War Goes On 17 

The Czechs AND the Poles 18 

Peace 19 

Last Night I Dreamed 20 

ToS.H 21 

ToM.L 22 

In Every Heart 23 

A Highroad 24 

The Song OF the Climber 26 

Evening AT BoLiNAS 27 

Thoughts of a Half-Witted Boy 28 

Taking THE Census 29 

The Return 30 

The Bomb Thrower 32 

Youth 34 

Thoughts of a Manicurist 35 

The Influenza AT CoRFOu 36 

The Men OF THE Navy 40 

Paris IN 1918 45 

San Marco 50 

Versailles 54 

Chlotilde 56 

The Union Jack 58 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Our Service Flag 59 

From THE Dead 60 

Peace! . . 6^ 

Sunset 64 

A Hymn OF Assurance 65 

Spring Song OF A Lover OF JuDAH 66 

Words 67 

Vachel Lindsay 70 

A Rose 72 

The Magnate 73 

A Prayer FOR THE Country 79 



THE RETURN 



THE RETURN 

A BOOK OF VERSE 

A PRAYER FOR HER 

Thou gavest me, O my Father, 

Many things; 

Life, and the zest of living. 

Home, friends, and faith in Thee, 

Thy Son, who showed Thee as Thou art, 

To us, here in a world, where 

Sin and self, struggle in combat 

With the life He lived 

And showed to men. 

Thou gavest these. 

Thou gavest also 

Her, 

In whom are gathered all 

That's best of home, friends, faith 

And that great love, that lingers. 

That lifts the heart, the whole of life 

To Thee. 

I pray for Her. 

[II] 



THE RETURN 



May She be kept by Thee in health, 

And strength 

And constantly assured 

That all is well, 

That Thou, the Maker, 

Guidest all aright. 

Bless Her service, the things She makes, 

Her great heart, sad within. 

But ever cheerful to the world. 

Keep Her confidant, courageous. 

And at the end of all the strife, 

May the life lived here, — 

If Thou permittest the return, — 

Give me the right, 

To be with Her and care for Her 

Throughout the years, — and may those years 

Bring Joy, Peace, and Love, 

Through Christ, whose love. 

Her love makes better known. 



Amen. 



12] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE HILLS 



I will lift up mine eyes. 

Far up to the hills, 
The hills where the winds are playing. 
I will lift up mine eyes. 

As my heart upfills 
With the words that the hills are saying, 

I will lift up mine eyes. 

Far up to the hills. 
The hills where the clouds are straying. 
I will lift up mine eyes. 

As my spirit thrills, 
And I gaze on the hills in praying. 

I will lift up mine eyes, 

Far up to the hills. 
The hills for a heart outfraying. 
I will lift up mine eyes 

To a God who wills 
His Peace and to none delaying! 



13 



THE RETURN 



TO THE PRESIDENT 



We said, "The reef is here, Pilot, beware! 

Mark how its intermittent black stands bold 

Against the sky." But ere we spoke, behold 

We saw that you had fixed our course with care 

And cleared the treach'rous rocks and hidden bar. 

We cried again, "See yonder ships ablaze! 

All speed to save!" And in the morning haze 

We seemed to lag. Yet you had seen afar. 

Our Pilot, o'er a wind-tossed wild sea. 

How sure we sailed through darkness unto light. 

You brought us safe, though fearful was the night. 

To waters calm, within the sheltered lea. 

We talked. You held the wheel. You made the way. 

You saved the men at sea. And yon's the bay! 



[14 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



TO THE KAISER 



Not many years ago, I stood with friends 

With whom I lived, near Tempelhoferfeld, — 

Two comrades who believed in you and held 

You king of all their thoughts. We stood where ends 

The Linden, where the broad Lustgarten starts. 

And in the surging throng we craned our heads 

To see you march. Behind one of the reds 

Grumbled and swore, but in our student hearts 

We highly honored you. 'Twas Sedan Day 

And it was stated in the press you would 

With your six sons parade, and so we stood 

To watch you pass in all your glad array. 

My friends are dead ! They died in France for you ! 

What death you've caused, you and your brutal crew! 



[151 



THE RETURN 



TO CHAPLAIN PESHALL 

The Resurrection was your theme to-day, 
And all the evidence you marshalled out, 
To prove to us, beyond the slightest doubt, 
That to a risen Christ we kneel and pray, — 
To one who gained o'er death the victory 
And won, for those who love, immortal life 
With God above. How sweet amid the strife 
To be so sure, to have such certainty. 
Yet as you talked, I looked at you and thought 
"How fine his face! How kind his eyes! And when 
He speaks, though much there is to doubt, the men 
Believe. They like him well, for he has sought 
To be their friend, to fill his Lord's commands." 
The Christ has risen ? Yes, in you He stands ! 



i6 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



THE WAR GOES ON 



The War goes on, O Rome! Yet thou dost stand 

Upon thy hill, within thy sheltered walls, 

And hearest not the cries on every hand 

For judgment true! Thy King, our Master, calls 

From battlefield. 'Tis there he now is found. 

With his strong sons, who there avenge the Right, 

Who freely pour upon the open ground 

Their precious blood, for Him, for Truth, and Light. 

Dost thou not hear, O Rome ? He calls to thee. 

Before the end is here, the conflict's won 

To take thy place with these who make men free. 

To speak his word, and say, "This evil shun!" 

The Christ, He died for Truth, yet thou dost wait. 

Thou Judge, judge now, before it is too late! 



[17 



THE RETURN 



THE CZECHS AND THE POLES 

The Czechian island, many years submerged, 

Beneath the flood of Austrian control. 

Beneath the Hapsburg tides, which backward roll 

These later days, — by inward forces urged 

By outward leverage applied, — has surged 

Now high above, with fast enlarging shoal. 

The mountains clear, the valleys dry, the whole 

From poisoned waters and from stagnant purged. 

And there bevond from that same ocean floor 

Another land has risen well to view, 

Poland, the torn by many a hostile power, 

The freed by friends whose blood has paid her score. 

And some rejoice, and some give thanks, — a few, 

And some proceed to kill in Freedom's hour. 



[i8] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



PEACE 



The evening milk's all in, the horses fed, 
The sun's gone down beyond the forest hill 
Above the gentle river's bend, where will 
Our work begin at dawn. Hark! from the bed. 
The children's quiet breathing. Sweet, the sound! 
The great black coals upon the hearth glow bright 
Above. The lamp sheds clear and soft its light 
About the simple living room. Our hound 
Before the open fire sleeps and dreams, 
The women sit and sew, and I read by 
The light, our latest News and hold it high 
To see the print within the lamp's sure gleam. 
How much our paper fills its space with plate ! 
But then, there's been so httle news of late! 



[19] 



THE RETURN 



LAST NIGHT I DREAMED 

Last night I dreamed of thee ! The heart and mind 
In slumber by the will are uncontrolled. 
And thoughts, which in the waking hours, I hold 
Enchained, and deep emotions, which I bind. 
As in a dungeon dark, unloosed I find 
By sleep, which gently doth the will enfold 
And leaves the heart and mind to be as bold 
As laughing truants from the school's dull grind. 
Last night I dreamed of thee! I kissed the strands 
Of perfumed hair the wind blew 'gainst my face, 
And in the lambent light of moon I dared 
Thy wine red lips to press, and with my hands 
Thy loveliness to frame. There was no trace 
Of pain as there in sleep my love stood bared! 



20 ] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



TO S. H. 



All Spring, with its pure charms — and new, is hers, 

Whose cheeks are flushed with rich red wine of youth, 

Whose voice is clear — a silver bell, forsooth, — 

And when she speaks, its tuneful sound, bestirs 

The heart to rapturous regard, — and when 

She draws but near, so lovely is her air, 

And full of grace, her form, — bewitching fair — 

She doth enchant and hold the gaze of men. 

Yet from this maiden charming as the fawn, 

To you I turn, whose loveliness excels. 

Whose beauty is as full as Summer's rose 

Of Nature's art — the Day for which the Dawn 

Sweeps far the Night. On thy fair self there dwells 

Content my gaze in lingering repose. 



[21] 



THE RETURN 



TO M. L. 



You asked me, what is there of poetry 

In life for you, whose eighth full lustrum lies 

Within the past. The clear red glow which flies 

Into the maiden's cheek, to chivalry 

Provokes. You say, you have it not, — and there 

Are lines about the eyes, and that soft brown 

And lustrous hair hath turned to grey — a crown 

No more, above a face which once was fair! 

'Tis so you speak — but far it is from truth. 

A loveliness there is, that fills the heart 

With warmth, that's yours, that charms e'en more to-day 

Than other graces in the days of youth. 

Doth Love grow old ? Hath Motherhood no Art ? 

Can Beauty in the faithful life e'er fade away? 



22 ] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



IN EVERY HEART 



In every heart, there is a flame. The blaze 

Sometimes is clear, sometimes it sputters blue 

Sometimes 'tis all snuffed out, — and sad the few 

Who have it not, who in their later days 

Must trudge along, without its inner light, - 

Without the gladness which it brings a soul 

Upon the way, there striving for the goal 

Which its pure gleam doth ever hold in sight. 

This inner light, is just the joy to be. 

To overcome and conquer in the strife, 

To give, to serve all others in this life 

With whom one walks. The power which feeds for me 

This flame, is that clear oil, which a friend, 

By his sure faith, pours on, e'en to the end. 



23 



THE RETURN 



A HIGHROAD IN NORTHERN ITALY 

WHERE THE REFUGEES TRUDGED WEARILY ALONG 



It's a broad road, 

The highroad, 
Triple flanked with tall trees. 
It's a straight road, 

A glad road, 
How soft and sweet the breeze! 

It's an old road. 

The highroad 
Ever crossed at the ridge. 
It's a tried road 

A proved road 
At every Roman bridge. 

It's a sure road 

The highroad 
Leading down from the hills. 
It's a true road 

A kind road 
To everyone who wills. 



24] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



It's a sad road 

The highroad 
See how deep are its ruts. 
It's a sad road, 

A hard road. 
OGod! How sorrow cuts ! 



25] 



THE RETURN 



THE SONG OF THE CLIMBER 

In Firenze, I have found her, 

I have found her in Firenze. 

In Firenze, I have found the lass I love, 

And as I climb the mountain, 

Bent beneath the heavy burden 

Of this gun upon my shoulder, 

My heart it goes on beating. 

Beating faster, faster beating, 

Ever with the strain a-leaping. 

In Firenze, I have found her. 

I have found her in Firenze. 

O Maria! what a lovely thing she is! 



[26] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



EVENING AT BOLINAS 

I know where clouds are hanging in the sky, 

Grey clouds, through which the graceful sea mews fly 

I know where emerald valleys calmly rest 

Beneath gold hills whose summits last are blessed, 

As from our mild mist-spread sheltered bay, 

The night so gently deprehends the day. 

'Tis there I long to be with you, to roam 

On mesa high and watch the sudden foam, 

Which lights for us the great grey stretch of sea 

And gladdens you — and saddens you and me. 



27 



THE RETURN 



THOUGHTS OF A HALF-WITTED BOY 
IN THE SUMMERTIME 

They who live in the heat of the city 

Swelter and sweat and Oh what a pity. 

They who move to the hills in the summer 

Were never close friends of the grocer and plumber. 

They who have sugar and sweets and canned jellies 

Could never agree with men of lean bellies. 

I've seen the children all naked and dirty 

Washed by the hydrant to the number of thirty. 

I've seen a servant girl hanging up clothes 

And I've seen a passer-by stick up her nose. 

Oh what a glorious land we are living in. 

Why are the workers constantly giving in? 

My brother's con is bad. Gee! but he coughs a lot. 

I wouldn't mind it much if 'tweren't so awful hot. 

Jim is the cop who comes when the lights are dim. 

He sure is good to me, but my pop's afraid of him. 

Oh I'm so proud of this my beloved land 

Where all are so kind and give me the helping hand, 

Where no one's in want and all have enough to eat 

Of butter and milk, of eggs and of sausage meat. 

At least all except the woman in forty-two. 

Who can t get no work and her rent is long overdue! 

I28I 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



TAKING THE CENSUS 

In this house there live 

Twelve women. 

Their names ? 

Josie, Rosie, Phillis 

And Jane — and, 

Oh, put down any old names 

Any old names'd do. 

Last names? 

Hell! They ain't got no last names! 

Twelve of God's children 
Defaced and defamed, 
Desired, deserted 
Drifting along, 
Swept by life's current 
Of tinsel and song. 

Twelve sisters of Mary, 
The Mother of Mercy 
The Mother of Jesus, 
Whose love is His rod. 
Twelve nameless 
Forsaken 
Children of God! 

[29] 



THE RETURN 



THE RETURN 

Take it from me, Bo ! 
This town ain't got no character! 
Look at that ugly red station, 
And the cinders around it 
And sand. 

Look at the false fronts 

On them stores, 

And the restaurants 

There along side, — 

Jimmie's Fly Trap ! 

Johnnie's New Grill! 

Ain't they — all of 'em — fierce? 

Look at that church 
Up the road, 
With its windows 
All broken and dirty! 

And its the same 
Down at Vaughan, 
And Sims, and Crosses 



30 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



And Derby, — 

And the whole country 

Through which we come! 

And here's where we live ! 
Ain't it just one hell of a place, 
For you and me, Buddy, 
Who've seen 

The Cathedral at Chartres, 
Versailles and the Louvre, 
And the bridges over the Seine ! 



j'l 



THE RETURN 



THE BOMB THROWER 

She got eleven cents for a dozen, 
Checked and turned in, 
And if she worked. 

Without stop 

Without raising her head 
She could clean up three dozen 

In an hour, 
And if she removed the safety, — 

Hazardous, 

No employer's liability there, — 
The little wheel worked quietly 

But how it could mangle 

And tear the soft flesh, — 
Witness Agnes and Mag and Fannie, 

Poor kids ! — 
But if she removed it. 
She could do a dozen more. 

And the rent was always a month overdue, — 
And butter and eggs and milk for us youngsters- 
She was determined we'd have them, — 
The damn stock brokers 
Kept ever climbing. 



32 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



So she worked by the piece, 

Fourteen years, 

And then the crash came 

And it wrecked her 

And killed her. 

And I her son worked on the wagons. 

You smooth face oily bunkshooter 
Get away from my window! 
What the hell you think this is anyway 
A menagerie? 

Yes, I threw the bomb. 

Damn fool I know. 

But my God! 

How I hate 

The guys that employ us ! 



[33 



THE RETURN 



YOUTH! 



Haven't I studied chemistry- 
Two years ? 
It's only required one, 
But I elected it, See! 
I guess I know something 
About atoms and molecules 
Electrons and 
Qualitative analysis! 

I guess I know 
Everything's reducible 
To centers of force 
And controllable 
By unchangeable laws! 

I guess I know 

A thing or two! 

Don't talk tome 

About miracles, or scripture, 

Or God! 



34 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



THOUGHTS OF A MANICURIST 

I clean, trim, 
And beautify 
Finger nails, 
All day long! 

How does that appeal to you 
As a vocation? 

Glistening pearls 
Set in pale rubies 
On tapering fingers 
Of milk white hands, — 
Little hands 
Slim soft hands, 
Knowing no work. 

Rugged, precise 

Square, well-kept nails — 

Other nails 

Of languid ladies 

And colorless goops! 

Queer 

I never clean any nails, 

Like mother's! 

[35I 



THE RETURN 



THE INFLUENZA AT CORFOU, GREECE 

Here on this sunkissed sacred knoll, 

With the kindly gnarled and hoary olive trees 

Guarding us round, — 

Serene Ben Ezras, watching in sympathy. 

As here we mourn, — 

We gather once more 

To lay away our dead, 

To honor our friends 

Whose spirits have sped 

Out of the light 

Into the darkness 

Into the night 

And into the full pure light 

Of perfect day again. 

Here we gather 

'Neath these kindly olive boughs 

And yonder cypress trees of hope. 

On this far island 

By many benedictions overbowed, 

An emerald flashing its shades of green 

Dropped in a sapphire ocean, — 

To honor our rich and blessed dead. 



36 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



These are our friends 

Who have fallen for us, 

Fallen for the land 

Of love and dreams 

And for a cause which is 

Righteous and just. 

Not by the speeding bullets 

From a mitrailleuse, 

Were they called to leave us here, 

Not by the bursting shell 

Spreading its pieces to their slaughter, 

Nor by the thrust of an offender 

In the light of rocket 

And the clear sure glare of star. 

But by the certain force of stalking dread disease, 

Coming with flame destroying torch 

Over the verdant fields 

And no one there to question 

For the forts were broken down 

And the defenders 

Almost dead. 



37 



THE RETURN 



These our friends 

Have fallen, before the hosts 

Of dread disease 

Because the strength of life 

Had gone in gallant service 

In defending right and truth, 

Against the dragon demons of the sea. 

Let us here lay their bodies 
'Neath these kindly trees, to rest. 

Their spirits are not here 
For they have risen 
To those homes which Christ 
For them has well prepared. 

Beneath the olive trees, He prayed for us 
Beneath the olive trees He shed his blood for us 
And from the olive trees 
As others watched 
He rose on high. 



38 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



To Him we commit our dead. 

With Him we leave our dead 

With Him who died and rose again 

And said 

The Love of man is greatest 

When it gives, 

When it gives itself 

For those who are its friends 

And giving makes the life here 

Cease to be. 



39 



THE RETURN 

THE MEN OF THE NAVY 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

The enemy lurks in the waters below, 
The enemy trains his gun from the shore, 
The enemy flies far above in the sky. 
The enemy plants in the channel his mines 
Where the path is sure 
Where the go uki is narrow 
And the rocks are high. 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

Little fishing boats 

Raise their sails 

And leave the friendly wall, 
Transports, blotched with many a color 

Carry their precious loads of men. 
And heavy freighters, laden with cargoes. 

Of oil and powder, 

Of steel and lumber. 

Of food and clothes, 

Of guns and high explosives 
Sail steadily on and on. 

[40] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

The men on battleships 

Cruisers 

Destroyers 
Minesweepers, sea-planes, submarines, 
Transports, colliers, trawlers, 

Tug-boats, 

Chasers, 
And private yachts, once trim and white, 
Ships men built for pleasure. 
But now 

In the service 

Tried and proved 

Worthy convoyers. 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

Sweeping up mines, stopping up ports 

Dropping depth charges 
Convoying merchantmen. 

Transports and freighters 
Loading great vessels 

With coal at sea. 



41 



THE RETURN 



Saving men from boats ablaze 

Picking up survivors 
Passing many a weary hour 
Doing many a noble deed 

With never a word 

With never a thought 

Of the hazard. 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

Down in the bellies of many ships 
They shovel coal — 
The stokers. 

Others high in cro'nests gaze afar 

For periscopes against the waves 
For jutting rocks and buoys 
For lighthouses and mines 
And for the great blue stretch 
Of distant land. 

Others wash down decks 
And polish brass 
And cook the food 
And weary, hold the wheel. 



[42] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



Others listen for the click 

The click, amid the whir, 
The click that gives command 
That calls far out upon the waters 
"We need your help !" 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

Officers and crew 
Men, who sleep 

A hundred 

In quarters made for ten 
With portholes closed 
With air, like poison gas 

School boys 

Clerks 

Musicians 

And men 
Whose care was play. 

Quietly they work upon the mighty deep. 

Let us here praise them 
Their quiet service 
Their humility 



43 



THE RETURN 



Their steadfastness 

Their cheerfulness 

Their efficiency 

Their achievement 

Their patriotism 

Their heroism 
(Of which they never speak) 
Let us here praise them 

These men ! 

The men of the Navy! 

The men of Our Navy! 

Our Navy, Our Own Navy ! 

Our Navy most glorious. 



Permission of The Outlook Co. 



[44] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



PARIS IN THE SPRING OF 191 8 

Paris is Beautiful ! Beautiful 

As a Song 

As a Woman 

As a Young Girl, 
Dancing in the moonlight 
On the soft cool grass, 
Amid an odor 

Of hyacinths 

And roses, 
With music 
And singing 

As incense, 

Coming 

From beyond the trees. 

But War is in the Northland, 
And here in Paris, so Beauriful, 
Men gather and ponder. 

Planning 

Lamenting 

Believing 

Rejoicing 



[45] 



THE RETURN 



And all, amid lovely flowers 
And under heavy shades 
And on roads, as smooth as glass, 
That wind along and over 

A River 

That shines 

As silver 
And gladdens, the passer-by. 
Here men talk of War 
And wounded ones. 

With bandaged heads 

And empty sleeves 

And tired eyes 
Sit idly by 

And dream 
And over all, the sky is blue 
And in the trees, birds chatter 
And sing their notes 

Now shrill, 

Now pure. 

So is Paris! So is she 
Amid the War, 

War the Terrible, 

War the Wanton, 



46 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



War the Destroyer, 
And yet, by God and Sacrifice and Daring, 

War the Redeemer 

And the Builder 
War that will bring 
New Songs to Paris, and a Beauty 

In the Life of Man 

In the Hearts of those 

Who suffer 
Such as the world 
Has never dreamed could be! 

Paris, shall be a Symbol, 

A Symbol of Beauty, 

A Symbol of Freedom, of Faith, 

A Symbol of Soul Achievement, 
A Symbol of Life, given up in sacrifice, 

By young and old, 
By Women, 

Strong of heart 

With clear eyes glistening. 
By little children, 

Laughing in the courtyard, 
And Warm-eyed maidens 

With flowers in their hair, 



47 



THE RETURN 



And all 

For Truth 
And Right 
And Light. 

And men shall worship 

'Neath her trees 

And by her River 

And amid the odors 

Of her fragrant flowers. 
They shall worship there 

Love incarnate, 

And the Light of Life 

And God, 
And they shall find 

In her homes 

And on her streets 
And in the places, where are gathered. 
Her sons and daughters, 

Happiness 

And Peace 

And the Master Builder. 



[48] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 

'Tis a Vision 

It will surely come. 

Wait for it! 
It may tarry. 

But wait for it. 
It will surely come 

To Paris, 

Paris, the Beautiful, 
Beautiful 

As a Song 

As a Woman 

As a Young Girl 
Dancing in the Moonlight 
On the soft cool grass. 

Permission of The Continent 



[49 



THE RETURN 



SAN MARCO 



The convent of San Marco, 

'Tis a lovely place! 

'Tis like a pool of water 

Fresh and sweet and cool 

And covered o'er with moss. 

Ferns are growing there 

And flowers of a fragrant lily sort, 

And now and then 

A child happens by 

And stooping by the water's edge. 

Quenches there its thirst. 

And round the pool 

There are great trees shading the water 

And reflecting in its calm unrippled surface 

Their graceful forms. 

And there's green sward about 

And up above and through the trees 

The clear blue perfect sky, 

Lying on one's back. 

Can well be seen. 

And there beyond the shaded grove and pool, 

There is a road, 

The noises can be heard, 

[50] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



But not as noise, more as a whir 

Of busy life below, 

And there beyond the road 

A village lies, 

And now and then, 

The hammer on the anvil can be heard, 

And the sound of children's voices 

In their play. 

And such a wrangle as one hears 

Upon a village street, — 

And as one lies there by the pool 

The many sounds come up into the quiet grove 

As something strangely sweet! 

So is San Marco's 

Such a pool. 

Such a calm and lovely place 

Such a grove 

Beneath the clearly blue perfect sky 

Which spread above 

The busy, toiling, wrangling, happy life ! 

But in this world beyond San Marco's 

There is War! 

War in a world where flowers 

Are uprooted 

t5il 



THE RETURN 



And trees are thrown down, 

And waters, fresh and cool. 

Are poisoned ! 

And quiet country roads, 

Disturbed but in the early morn 

And evening hour, by peasants' carts. 

Now shake beneath 

The rumbling loaded camions, 

And little village places 

There beyond the roads 

Are now all broken down 

A mass of smoking ruins 

And little children, playing in the grove. 

They are no more. 

And the soft green sward 

'Tis overturned for new made graves. 

There the crosses are inscribed 

And with the flags 

All standing in a row. 

And yet San Marco's 
Such a lovely peaceful place 
From all this bitter wanton war 
Which wakes, redeems the world 
Is not removed. 



5^1 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



For I saw there the signs upon the walls 

Written in many tongues 

Having the German words all roughly crossed 

And some smudged out ! 

And over-pasted, Oh ! the glory of it ! 

Pictures of Belgium babies 

And the call to rescue them ! 

The convent of San Marco, 

*Tis a lovely place, 'tis like a pool 

So fresh and sweet and cool, 

And up above. 

Far up above 

The clear blue perfect sky 

Through the high and graceful trees 

Can evermore 

Can evermore 

Be seen ! 



S3 



THE RETURN 



VERSAILLES 



And when the time came, 
The full time, the sure time, 
For which he waited. 
He said to us, 
"It's now our war. 
The foe of the allies 
Is now our foe! 

Justice, Righteousness and Truth, 
Freedom and Peace, 
And that sweet heritage. 
For which the fathers of our land 
Gave all to gain, 

And then, with their own lives defended,- 
The right to govern self. 
To grow and be and feel. 
Without the yoke of the oppressor. 
And the burden of a tyrant's hand — 
Are lost. 

For us and all the world. 
If these brave men 
Who stem the great grey tide 
In the northern fields of France, 
Go down submerged!" 

[54] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



"Arise," said he, 

"For Freedom and Mankind!" 

And we arose, 

A nation, mighty, dreaming, strong. 

No thought of self, 

No secret planned designs, 

Naught but the freedom 

Which we loved. 

Was in our hearts and eyes. 

But ere we stood in our full strength 

The tide fell back 

The world was saved. 

The War was won ! 

In the great long hall of mirrors, 
Which Louis, the Arrogant, planned. 
Where Bismarck, the Iron, wielded 
The power made for his hand. 
There stands our trusted leader. 
Lonely and true and grand ! 
"We'll take this," says someone, 
"And that strip of land is our pay." 
"Ridiculous, this talk of Wilson. 
For what did we fight anyway ?/ 

[551 



THE RETURN 



CHLOTILDE 



Name of a Queen ! 
Name of a lass, 

With soft warm eyes 

And a merry laugh, 
And a voice, like the voice of a brook 

Which flows o'er a pebbled bed 

Where the rocks are smooth 

And the banks are green 

All covered with deep fern moss. 
Chlotilde! Chlotilde! 
Name of a Queen 
Name of a lass. 

Of such loveliness 

As the fresh clear air 

Of the open field in the early morn 
When the dew's on the grass 
And the light of the sun on the kine 
As they pass to the meadow land beyond. 

Chlotilde! Chlotilde! of fair Savoy 
How I love to repeat thy name 

As I think of thy lips, 

How red they were 

[56] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



And thy hands, 

Both given to mine to guard, 
And the touch of thy cheek 
Oh! thejoyitgave 

Like the joy in richest wine! 



57 



THE RETURN 



THE UNION JACK 

The Blood and Guts of England! 

Raise on high! 
The Blood and Guts of England 

Let it fly! 

The Blood and Guts of England. 

Hear him rave! 
The Hun slinks by to homeland, 

See it wave! 



58 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



OUR SERVICE FLAG 

Our Service Flag, of purest white 

Dipped in the red of richest blood, 

And studded o'er with stars, — 

Deep blue and shining gold, — 

Hangs high above the chancel rail. 

But gently does it move, there high aloft. 

Where currents of the nave and transept meet, 

And rightly does it hand, so near the cross. 

The Symbol of our gift to free mankind. 

And as I sit and worship here, 

Quietly our God, 

And listen to the words of life 

The priest to us declares, 

I look up to that banner of our youth 

Who serve in this great Cause of Right, 

And how my heart fills up with stirring pride, — 

Though there are times when sorrow reigns supreme. 

His star is there, the fourth, 
Though he was first to go. 
How clear it shines and bold, — 
His star, my son's, — 
His star of radiant gold ! 

[59] 



THE RETURN 



FROM THE DEAD 



To-day, in bold black type, 

The headlines ran, 

"Italia from parleys 

Has withdrawn. 

And Orlando, before he left 

Spoke out his nation's will." 

"The allies promised us," he said, 

"Trieste and Trentino 

And all the high and rocky coast 

Beyond the sea. 

It was for these we fought 

And our brave sons 

So gallantly have died. 

And by the blood of those who've gone 

We'll have them all!" 

And Wilson answered him, 

"Not land, not wealth. 

But Liberty endangered, 

Called our men 

To fight and die. 

And now. 

The thing that's right 



60 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



And only that 
Shall stand!" 

We who have died, 

The dead of many nations, 

Whose bodies lie 

On field and hill, where they have fallen, 

Whose spirits are alive. 

We cheer him on 

Who stands alone. 

And holds thus high aloft 

The flame! 

Land! 

What cared we for land ? 

Ports! 

We never heard their names — - 

The comrade, much beloved, 

Whose body lies next mine. 

Where gently flows the Meuse 

And flowers bloom, 

I heard him say 

Not long before he died. 

That he had come 

Because of Poland's wounds, 

And I gave up my life 

[6i] 



THE RETURN 



Fighting the Hun, 

That Freedom might prevail 

And Justice rule supreme. 

What noble thoughts, they were 

With which, they spurred us on ! 

And now they talk of ports and land, 

And Orlando has gone back to his home 

Because Italia has been denied 

What had been once a part of Venice' Main, 

A distant and protected harbor wall ! 

Rest gently, brother, 'Twill not be in vain. 

There stands one 

Who guards 

The fruit 

Of all your pain. 



62] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



PEACE! 



They took from France Alsace Lorraine, 
Though thousands bled on hill and plain. 
They took from France Alsace Lorraine, 
The price of war, its fruit and gain. 
They took from France Alsace Lorraine 
Though thousands bled on hill and plain. 

But there were those who cried in pain, 
Alsace! My Alsace and Lorraine! 

They say, the Hun must give the Saar, 
For he has fought for selfish pow'r. 
They say, the Hun must give the Saar 
And pay the price of brutal war. 
They say, the Hun must give the Saar 
For he has fought for selfish pow'r. 

T^hey took from France Alsace Lorraine^ 
though thousands bled on hill and plain. 
They took from France Alsace Lorraine 
But there were those who cried in pain, 
Alsace! My Alsace and Lorraine! 



63 



THE RETURN 



SUNSET 



OGod! 

Could anything be more lovely, 
Than that sky! 

That pure, clear, cool 

Turquoise blue, 

Those streams of molten gold. 

That flame of red. 

And the rose and grey haze. 

Wrapt, as woman's scarf. 

Over the heads . . . 

The deep black hills. 
The dancing water. 
Flashing the colors 
Of Thy palette . . . 

OGod! 

Could anything be more lovely 
Than yon hills. 
And our Bay, 
And Thy Sky! 

[64] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



A HYMN OF ASSURANCE 

I know Thou wilt abide 

In all that life doth hold, 
Thou Keeper of the fold 

My Guardian and Guide. 

Though dawn, so pure and clear, 
Doth grey and turn to mist 
I know the sun hath kist 

The rose and brought its cheer. 

Though clouds have filled the sky 
And heavy hangs the day 
Assured I wend my way 

Knowing that Thou art nigh. 

Though night doth draw apace 
And never once the light 
Doth burst upon my sight 

I know Thy blessed grace. 

I know Thou wilt abide 

In all that life doth hold 
Thou Keeper of the fold. 

My Guardian and Guide. 

[65] 



THE RETURN 



SPRING SONG OF A LOVER OF JUDAH 

Arise O My Love ! Arise O My Love ! 
Thou fairest of maidens, Come thou with me. 
Come! Come! Come thou with me, 
Thou fairest of maidens, come, come away! 

See up from the happy earth lilies appearing. 

List ! hear the birds in the myrtle trees sing. 

Hark to the voice of the turtle dove calling, 

His love notes are sounding over the land. 

The green figs are filling, the vines are in blossom, 

All life is astir and fragrance on all. 

For lo! He hath drawn the winds from our valleys. 

And the rain he hath quenched, whose Spring is his song! 

Arise O My Love! Arise O My Love! 
Thou fairest of maidens, come thou with me. 
Come! Come! Come thou with me. 
Thou fairest of maidens, come, come away! 



661 



A BOOK OF VERSE 

WORDS 

What strange things words are! 

The vibration of carefully stretched cords 

Enclosed, unfolded, 

Determined by position 

Of tongue and teeth and lips 

And form of throat, 

And an indefinable something 

Regulating all 

Called brain, or mind or soul. 

Lheard a man utter a word once. 

Which aroused another to fury, 
His whole being burned 
With consuming anger. 
It was a terrible sight, — 
That man, in his frenzy. 
Because of that word. 



67 



THE RETURN 



1 heard a word in the summer breezes, 

A word so softly sweetly breathed 

I scarce did hear it, 

A word which metamorphised 

Into a kiss 

A sigh 

And a caress. 

I heard a word fall softly, quietly, 

A word which sent men into the darkness 

Over damp fields and through hedges 

And blood stained fields 

To death, 

And to whatever there is 

Left here after death. 

And to whatever there is 

Beyond death. 

Where the spirit goes — 

If it goes. 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



What strange things words are! 

The vibration of carefully stretched cords 

Enclosed, unfolded 

Determined by position of tongue 

And teeth and lips 

And form of throat, 

And an indefinable something 

Regulating all 

Called brain, or mind, or soul ! 



[69 



THE RETURN 



VACHEL LINDSAY 

Vachel Lindsay 

Wandered here and there, 

North and Southland East and West, 

Without wallet or staff. 

Singing his songs. 

The dusty roads 
Gave back his music, 
With the voice of the thrush 
In the fences. 
After he had passed. 

The mud-floor shack 

Of the mountaineer 

Crooned its cabin tunes, 

When in the dew of early morning. 

He wandered on his way. 

Village and country places 
And the ugly unkempt towns. 
Cleaned their streets, 
And washed their windows. 



70 



A BOOK OF VERSE 

And painted out their uncouth signs, 
After he and his glad singing 
Had come and gone ! 

Says Mrs. Parks 
Of Springfield, 
"Where is Vachel now?" 

"Wandering down in South Carolina," 
Said a neighbor, 
"Sticking poems onto 
People's doors!" 

"Isn't it disgusting?" said another. 

"Most disgusting," all replied. 

And still he dreams — 
And sings . . . 



iyil 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



A ROSE 



Beyond a vineclad wall a lovely rose 

Doth bloom within a garden of a friend, 

And oft within the charm it doth extend 

O'er all, I stand and fondly gaze. Who knows 

Such moments when the life so gently flows 

As zephyr wafted odors seem to wend 

The soul away and fragrance doth attend 

As upward on its holy way it goes ? 

How my heart longs, as there I stand and gaze 

To gather up this rose of red and press 

The coolness of its petals to my face. 

The Delphic Pythian dreamed amid the haze 

And saw Truth rise, as I, without caress 

Of rose, see Fate adown the road apace! 



72] 



THE RETURN 



THE MAGNATE 



The button's there. The heater's just below 

That silver plate beneath the seat, and when 

'Tis on, as now, it gives a temperature 

Of seventy upon the coldest day. 

You've been here long enough to know, I'm sure, 

How cold can be the weather in these streets. 

These man-made canyons, which we call New York. 

This car — there's not another one in town. 

In all of Gotham, like this car of mine, — 

Was made for me by Count d'Estrees the year 

The war broke out. He said his expert men 

In all his shops united to produce 

The finest car of all the year. And then 

He sent it me as a mark of his esteem. 

Though there was trouble, I will grant, before 

He got it shipped. But as you know his power 

And mine are great enough to set aside 

Whatever laws may here or there prevail. 

I mean laws technical. The moral laws 

Are binding on us all ! Ah ! notice there 

The tower beyond the sun. How bright it shines ! 

We pass the building several corners up 

Of which it is the top. It is, I think. 



73 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



The highest in New York. The other day 

I bought it on the Street, will you believe, 

For just a paltry sum. Our copper mines 

Are coming on so well that we can do 

That sort of thing without concern. It came 

So cheap because the money's not so free 

As several months ago before the war 

Was on. You know, I've made in copper more 

This year than in the twenty others passed 

In which I've owned the Rostock vein. And that 

Despite the heavy tax of every sort 

They make us big ones bear. Just now, as you 

Perhaps have read, a heady bunch have held 

Our smelter up. Such idle fellows as 

Come round to stir the worker's ire. Yet not 

To open strike but to in subtle ways 

Delay the work, to damage or destroy 

The plants. They say it's German gold and I 

Believe they're right, though there is much not so 

Explained. In Bisbee now there is, I'm told 

A brewing such a mess as may result 

In something even worse than war. You see 

The President, he doesn't understand. 

He talks a lot, and what he says sounds good. 

But Samuel Gompers and that crowd have got 



[74] 



THE RETURN 



His ears more than the rest of us who've made 

This Tand, who've brought the peace and wealth and power 

Which we have known now for many years. 

If we had men Hke Root or Taft or some 

One of McKinley's sort for these hard days! 

We're now at Central Park. The bronze beyond 

St. Gaudens made. 'Tis General Sherman of 

Our Civil War. And here reside, as you 

French say, the big bonnets of our great land. 

Our house is farther up and on the Drive, 

But closed just now. My wife prefers to stay 

Up in the hills until the Fall is passed. 

And Maude — our only child — has gone to France 

As canteen girl. This snapshot came to-day 

From St. Nazaire, where she is serving now. 

You'll recognize the Bretonnes by their caps. 

See those big straw filled shoes on that sweet lass 

By Maudie's side. Fair? Yes, but strong. She has 

Her mother's build and eyes and mother's heart 

But all the energy and power of her 

Old dad! Sometimes I cannot help but wish 

She were a boy. There just across the road's 

Our gallery. It's not your Louvre, but then 

It's coming on, and some collections there. 

The gobelins — they're mine — are now as fine 

[75] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



As any that I know. I'd like to take 

You through it while you're here, though I presume 

Your time is filled. The church beyond the store 

Is where you'll speak. I've been an elder there 

For thirty years. Oh yes, I'm older than 

You think. I've trained my body as I train 

My office force and all who work for me 

And serve my will. A morning plunge, some time 

Each day upon the links, or walking through 

The hills, keeps me so trim and strong and young. 

Then I've gone straight you know — no vices that 

Break down the vigor of a man, and not 

A drop of wine for years ! Sounds strange to you. 

Though chaplain that you are ? You think of all 

Those vintages at home in poor Champagne. 

That limestone on the corner's Carnegies'. 

You've heard of him — a wonder in his day — 

But now enfeebled and we fear will soon 

Pass on. He came here steerage so they say. 

But how he forged ahead! This land of ours 

Is such a place where anyone who has 

The brain and fire of daring soul can go 

Ahead, and scale whatever heights he will. 

That's why I have no sympathy with all 

This wild roaring crowd of reds who pester now 



76 



THE RETURN 



As Stinging flies upon a patient horse. 

Most al] of our great men were born poor, 

And some from poverty arose, because 

They had the might of will. And they who stay 

Below stay there because they have not in 

Themselves the power to rise. And that's the crowd 

The under inefficient noisy ones 

That Wilson listens to. My father had 

A farm up Haarlem way, not far from where 

Our car is passing now. 'Twas just a small 

And scraggly unproductive farm, and when 

He died, at fifteen, I went forth to fight 

The world. And what I've done could anyone 

Who has the power within him, as I say, 

To go ahead. They who succeed are those 

Who well deserve success. And they who fail 

They fail because they are themselves. They need 

Our aid. The charities, I help, and serve 

Upon their boards, and do, if I may say. 

Munificently support. They need as well 

Our sympathy. But when the workers join 

And seek the mines, the shops, the railroads, and 

The business of the world and government 

To run to ruin, 'tis then I fight and all 

My power in Wall Street and at Washington 

[77] 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



I'll turn to put them down ! What right have they 

To tell me how to run my mines ? Well, here 

We're back. How fast the time has gone! You'll lunch 

With us on Sunday after church. And as 

I said, I'll gladly give to further your 

Great work. The orphans most of all disturb 

My heart. My check was mailed to you to-day. 

And if you wish I'll act as treasurer. 

It's nothing, sir! The office force can care 

For all the mail without increase and if 

My name can serve you, why, of course, it's yours! 

It's been a pleasant ride. Jones, have that boy, 

There shiv'ring by the post, bring me The Times 

How cold it is outside! Goodbye, my friend. 

My salutations to your croix du guerre! 



78 



THE RETURN 



A PRAYER FOR THE COUNTRY 

O Jehovah, God of the High Heavens, 

Creator — Preserver — Governor, 

Thou that keepest covenant with them 

That love Thee and do Thy will; 

God of Justice, 

Bless our Native Land we pray. 

Bless the chosen guardians, 

Who make, interpret, and execute the laws. 

May they do all in accordance with Thy will. 

Bless our institutions. 

The Home, the Church, the School, 

And all others 

Restraining evil, promoting happiness. 

Building up character. 

And fostering true knowledge and faith in Thee. 

Bless especially and guide 

In this great crisis, amid distress, 

Perplexity, suffering and war. 

Our Armies — Our Navies, 

And all other forces 

Making the arm strong, the judgment sure. 

The heart courageous and the end certain. 

Let the sacrifice of life. 



79 



A BOOK OF VERSE 



The burden of pain, 

The weary watches, 

The love in absence 

Bear fruit in Victory, 

In Holiness, 

In Freedom and World Peace, 

Through Christ, Thy Son, 

Whose reign shall never end. 



Amen. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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